


Reset

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Survival, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How <em>did</em> Daken survive that explosion? He's honestly not that sure, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rekall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rekall/gifts).



There are a number of ways to come back from the dead, Daken's been told. He's always figured the easiest way to do it is not to die at all. But sometimes....

Sometimes you just want to go out with a bang.

The explosion had caught him, ripped through his body. Nothing left but ash and gristle.

Turned out he still had his healing factor, more or less.

It was just really, really, really friggin' slow.

Breathing came back first, then the awareness of pain. Then his bones knotting together, smooth in some moments, ragged in others. In the end, he had to rebreak his left femur to get the damn thing working right, but the rest of it went all right.

He kept his mind busy by running through languages. Japanese, English, Latin, Greek, French. French. Fucking French. Like Latin, only for cheese-obsessed thugs. Italian...he had a little Italian left, mostly names for food. Korean. Korean was more solid. Mandarin. A little Vietnamese, mostly ways to tell people to go to hell.

He could say _How the fuck am I still alive_ in a dozen languages.

When he finally had eyes to open, he was in an alley. _It's always an alley._ Probably lucky he hadn't been chopped into bits all over again once or twice. Hell, maybe he had and he was regenerating like a starfish.

He figured it was three days later that he could move his arm.

Still. Movement. It meant something. Standing was better, but that took another week, and by then he was fucking starving.

There were rats in the alley.

He lived, let's just leave it at that.

He dreamt. Of his mother, the fake one he'd lived with, the real one he never knew. Then Romulus. Logan.

It was all incoherent and pain-filled and stupid.

Stupid.

As soon as his brain was really working he drove it all out of his mind. He had better shit to think about than that.

He could call someone, when he had a phone again. But who would he call?

It didn't matter. Nobody would want to talk to him after the last shit he'd pulled. He'd wanted it over. Instead, he'd gotten...a vacation in someplace short of Hell.

Nothing new to him. He had a long acquaintance with the shit end of the stick. He should've known even trying to die would bite him in the ass.

Eventually, he realized that all he had for clothing was a half-burned shirt and the remnants of what might have been his hat, and the chill was starting to get to him.

He waited until dark. He'd had plenty of time to figure out where he was. Nowhere near where he'd gone down. Who knew what the fuck had happened there? Had someone shoveled his ashes into a dustbin or something, and then dragged it halfway across the city?

It didn’t matter, really. He knew where he was. And it was near a nightclub.

He watched people pass for a while. Women, men, not many, and usually coupled when they were. But finally a man came by who was about the right height. Angry, weak. Probably hadn't showered in a week.

His clothes reeked, too. But it looked like Daken could wear his pants. That was all he needed for a start. He sure as hell wasn't going to be wearing them long.

"Hey," he rumbled. "Sexy. Come over here."

It probably wouldn't have worked for a normal guy. But Daken had never been normal.

The man picked his head up, and walked into the alley.

Daken had been a little off in his calculations, probably due to however long he'd been in the alley. Not what you'd call gourmet dining. But none of the ill-fitting clothes fell off, especially after he tightened up the belt, and the currently indisposed James Young had a nice fat wallet in the back pocket. That was a start.

Daken was feeling generous, so he left the guy the keys to his apartment.

James Young's phone told him it was midnight. Might be an all-night drugstore around. He really, really needed to brush his teeth.

His muscles protested a little as he started walking for real, but in a good way. Good to be moving again. Maybe not exactly what he'd wanted, but it would get him through.

_That's what you do, Daken. You survive. Whether you like it or not._

_Might as well do some damage while you're there._

James Young had been the proud owner of an ATM card, a UFC branded credit card, and what might have been a loyalty card for a strip club. Plus almost $200 in cash. Not bad.

Enough for a start. He'd never needed more than that.

Three clubs later he was up to clean clothes, $2,000, and a pair of black leather boots he was planning on keeping; they were remarkably comfortable for how good they looked.

Speaking of good-looking, his hair needed cutting. That could wait until morning. Not many places could get you a reliable haircut at 3 am. He did manage to find a drugstore and a toothbrush. That helped.

In the bathroom of the all-night diner where he brushed his teeth, he pressed his ragged nails into his skin until he drew blood, then waited to see if the cuts would heal. They did.

Back to normal, more or less.

He couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved.

He ate three pancakes, four strips of bacon, two biscuits, gravy, and a slice of pie. He was still hungry when he was finished, but it wasn't the hollow need he'd been feeling earlier. Fed and fucked. Couldn't ask much more from the world than that. Maybe he'd get a shower at the Y before trying to find a place to stay. He still smelled like a sewer.

The sunlight, when it came, felt like a punch in the gut. "Fuck you," he grumbled at it.

_You can't die, you might as well live._

_And figure out who you can take down while you're at it._

No sense in suffering alone, after all.

Daken smiled with his fresh, clean teeth, and wondered what damage he could do.


End file.
